Occupational Hazards
by Aquatic-Idealist
Summary: He thought he had a hard life, caught as the laughing stock of his community. He thought he could move on, making something out of himself. After witnessing a certain event, and falling out with certain "bad elements," he realized how wrong he was.
1. A Raccoon in a Cage

**Warning**: Strong language, dark humor, cynicism. But, hell, you're probably expecting that!

Note: All Black Lagoon 'verse characters have speech patterns based on the English dub. Sunohara's English has improved, but not by much (he's based on the Japanese dub). Still, when Lagoon company characters do show up in this fic, at the very least Youhei won't be completely incomprehensible.

Occupational Hazards

**1. A Raccoon in a Cage**

This day just wasn't going well.

"Sunohara, this is the third time I've gotten a report from the police. It sounds like you ran over some lady's dog and managed to take down a telephone pole. Tell me, why do I keep you around?"

"For comic relief?"

I wish I wasn't such a smartass.

Yeah, my name's Sunohara, Sunohara Youhei. I just got a job as a taxi driver after spending months looking for one. Most of the people I knew from high school either had jobs or went on to higher studies. Since I don't have the money or the grades to do either, I was stuck job hunting. Unlike one of my friends, Okazaki Tomoya, I didn't get this job easily. I had to slave away to get a license and work even harder just to keep it.

And now, because of some stupid pothole on the ground that busted my tire, I lost my job.

Either that or the comment I gave my boss, I really don't know.

Anyway, you can imagine what happened next. I got fired and I had to find another job. But who would hire me? It was a Saturday, 5PM. Most places were just about to close and they sure as hell didn't want anyone to show up begging them for a spot. I was going to have to walk home and mope around for the rest of the day... If I couldn't find a job in the next week, my rent would be overdue.

* * *

So here I am, walking along the street and minding my own business, when all of a sudden some car comes careening down the street, and guns start firing. Like any sane person, I duck behind some boxes. Sure, they won't cover me if a bullet goes through them, but at least I can stay hidden. I'm sure as hell not gonna get myself involved with something like this!

I hear a few shouts, and as I peek over the boxes I see three or four guys collapse on the ground. There's blood everywhere, and there's a flash as another guy starts firing, coming from the direction where those men fell. They're all wearing shady suits, and some kind of Yakuza-esque getup. Am I seriously watching a gang war take place?

The last guy has some kind of automatic rifle, so he's firing and firing, a grin on his face as he probably thinks he can avenge the guys who fell, but then there's a shot to the head and he's down. A few other people start moving into view, these guys are wearing similar clothes but have a grey patch on their right shoulders. As I'm watching them from their right, I see them move ahead, making both sides pretty obvious from where I'm standing.

Then one of those guys turns, and he spots me.

For a second, time froze. All my brain could come up with was: "Oh, crap." I didn't try to run, and didn't try to duck as fast as I can... I just stared, and so did he.

"Someone's spotted us!" I hear him yell. Hell, they've already exchanged gunshots already. If there's anyone nearby they'd know something was up. No point in being subtle.

I turn and run, scampering as fast as I can, and I hear gunshots. More gunshots and more yells. A bullet grazes my shoulder. I'm hit, but my heart's beating so fast that it doesn't register. I have to get out of here, have to stay alive... I can't get myself killed in something stupid like this!

I hear more shots. I instinctively dodge and run off through the streets and alleys. They definitely wouldn't cause more of a ruckus, right? The cops would come and scare them off.

I was wrong.

I turned a corner and ran head first into a group of three of these mobsters, each carrying a minigun of some kind. They fire, but somehow none of the bullets hit me. I just run blindly and I hear a few of the bullets hit metal and brick. Somehow I'm still alive...

I keep on running, but I finally stop and freeze. Standing before me is some hotshot with a desert eagle, and a pair of goons with machine guns by his side.

"He just won't die!" Someone yells from behind me, and the rest of the goons show up.

I was cornered.

The guy was obviously a Yakuza boss. He had a gold chain, the stylish sunglasses, and he even carried that stereotypical "Chicago gangster" hat. Geez, it would have been a funny sight had I not had at least twenty guns pointed at me.

"You do know what happens from here on out, don't ya', kid?"

I gulp and nod.

"But I like your style... Those other fools thought they could get in my way, and now they're gone. It looks as though you've got some divine luck. Not a single bullet from my men took you out."

I nodded again. The pain in my shoulder began to flare up, but if I moved I'd probably see grandpa right then and there.

"So I'd like to make you an offer. You don't plan to be a snitch, do you?" He took off his sunglasses and eyed me closely. Those brown orbs seemed to burn, and I almost flinched.

I nodded frantically.

"You wanna join?"

I wasn't stupid enough to look away. I also knew that the moment I opened my mouth to anyone other than a member of this gang I'd be dead, so I decided to just nod. I had nothing left to lose. I lost my job. I was about to lose my place. I had barely anything of value back at my place, and by the looks of it this "business" seemed pretty lucrative.

I wonder why he didn't just kill me beforehand? It would save him some breath.

"Great. Get him a bandage and a pistol. I'm sure you'll like being a decoy. Welcome to the family."

Geez... How would I ever get out of this alive?

* * *

People say that it's easy to lose that disturbed feeling after seeing horrible things around you again and again. In the past I'd ignore people's advice and do my own thing. After all, they weren't the ones who determined my life, I was. I was a person who kept his uniqueness even after everyone around me surrendered to a life of boredom and sorrow, keeping themselves blinded by unrequited love and the identical cogs of the societal machine. I was my own man, so I didn't have to care.

Oh, how stupid I was.

Turns out, most people were right. I'd found myself caught like a raccoon in a cage, having just lost everything I cared about and getting trapped in an "offer" that I couldn't refuse. These goons needed a meatshield who "just wouldn't die," and if I ran away or leaked a word of info I'd get shot, so I was their perfect tool. I fell from someone who kept his identity till the end to a faceless goon who'd probably die in a week or two.

Oh, Lord, just stop laughing and kill me already, you bastard.

My first assignment wasn't too hard. They gave me a pistol and expected me to draw some attention away from some security guards while they stole some precious stones from a museum. I have no idea why "organized crime" like this would do the same petty junk that so-called crooks do in movies, but who was I to complain? I had one or two guys with me, but I was the one taking orders, and frankly they were pretty low on the pecking order, too. The three of us were cannon fodder, and we couldn't do a thing about it.

But like I said, it wasn't hard. One of my teammates opened fire once we got our signal, though the lights the main group used nearly blinded me and surely risked the operation. For all their hype, it seemed that the Boss really did need me after all. Only someone like me could see through the flaws in their plans.

Anyway, so the light shines, a few shots ring out, and boom, we take down a guard. His buddy starts shooting back, as any guard would, and so it's three men against one. I could have sworn I saw the red flash of a radio's on-light, and heard him mumble some gibberish. He was calling for backup, and if we didn't take care of them we'd all be dead men.

So I popped out from the cover of night and whatever thing we were hiding behind and fired like a madman at the guard. I mean, honestly, if it was a choice between me dying, and me having to kill someone for the first time, what the hell do you think I'd do? It's not like I planned it, no, and my gun just wouldn't stop shaking, but I pulled it off. After firing like four or five times the guard finally went down, and I think that most of my bullets missed... Thank god, at least I didn't become a murderer that easily.

My other two partners just stared at me. One of them even nodded. "Good job, kid." Who the hell was a kid here? They weren't that much older than me! But anyway, with that guard dead more came, and as I hid behind a parked car my buddies took care of them. I killed one man today. Did they expect me to do it again like some monster? I sure as hell wasn't no monster... I did it because I'd get shot otherwise... I swear, it's not like I enjoyed it!... Really!

I killed a man that day. I killed a man and even as my partners patted me on the back I couldn't smile. How could I? I was forced into joining these bastards, and they made me do the very thing a regular, good, decent person in a decent society wouldn't do. I killed a man, and they were proud of me.

So proud, in fact, that they gave me the worst job possible for someone like me.

They sent me to Roanapur.


	2. Middle of the Mire

If there were a T+ rating, this fic would have that rating.

**Heavy Use Of Language**, but you people should expect that. This is the Fucking Black Lagoon 'verse. Sunohara and other Clannad characters are merely guests, and not exactly honored ones at that.

**2: Middle of the Mire ** (1.)

Roanapur, the city that would put cities like Caracas, Vegas, and Macau to shame.

Roanapur, the place where all the scum of the earth settles like silt and dirt clogging a riverbed.

Roanapur, my new home.

Why the hell won't fate be honest for once and just kill me right now?

My group seemed to think it was a good idea to set up camp here, in this city of demons and death. Violence and hatred ruled these streets, and though both the Chinese Triad and a certain Russian organization share power here, there are too many places where any random person could so easily get killed. Random, innocent, trapped people like me.

As I walked the streets, having been ordered to patrol the area and see if there was anything worthwhile for our gang to break into, I kept on hearing whispers in the wind. "A Japanese guy?" "Those shades?" " Hah! Hotel Moscow took care of the Yakuza when they came here, and she can do it again!" Random voices whispering to each other, too stupid to realize that I could hear them.

I kept my sunglasses on. Blowing my cover might allow other gangs to track me a lot easier, and that would ruin my chances of staying alive. I wasn't cut out for this job, so I had to adjust as fast as I fucking could. One mistake, one blunder and I'd be sleeping with the fishes.

I wonder, though, with people talking about major criminal organizations so openly, how did my group hope to keep themselves low key? Sooner or later the Triad or this "Hotel Moscow" would come after us...

For the first few months, nothing much happened, really. We started getting into the drug trade, evading a few Latino cartels while doing so. It seems that, with the Triad and their Russian counterparts making loads of cash, they weren't too interested in bothering certain other activities. Slowly our group began to make a break for the drug trade, and we got into quite a few fights with the local "foreigners." Seems like Thai people were the least concerned with the profession we were aiming for.

As you can imagine, as newcomers to this place, these gangs hoped to get rid of us. Mercenaries were common out here, and they weren't so interested in working for groups with few local connections, like us.

So we had to fight them off...

* * *

Bullets whizzed past my head as I grabbed onto the backseat of an Audi sports car.

Apparently, they sent us out in this thing, thinking that we'd be able to outrun the guys who'd shoot at us. Well, we could go fast, all right, but we stood out like a sore thumb.

We were so obvious and so noticeable as targets that our own clients stabbed us in the back. Our client happened to work with both sides, coming to us for certain drugs that we sold cheaper than the other party, but still having to rely on our enemies for the stuff we couldn't get our hands on. It was understandable, and it wasn't like our side was going to get them for it, but obviously we had to make ourselves better dealers. A high-class sports car like the one we were using made anyone who was curious spot us quickly. People who buy drugs can't afford to stand out, or they'd obviously get caught.

Sure, this was Roanapur, you could get away with whatever shit you wanted, but the thing was that if you can do horrible things, so can everyone else... We had to make it so that it would be relatively safe for clients to buy from us, but being so out in the open with our choice in vehicles, those who felt betrayed by the loss of business would likely shoot "traitorous" customers and tricky rivals at once.

So as our client was making a purchase from a typical black BMW, the standard car for "I'm part of a stronger group and you can't fuck with me." We pull up nearby in our Audi. Now those of you who don't know cars so much can be forgiven. An Audi might not seem that different than a BMW, but here's the thing: when you have, say, a black backpack on every person in a park, and all of a sudden a guy walks along with a black duffel bag, wouldn't you find that weird? Wouldn't you pay attention to that guy? Hell, I sure would.

And so would everyone else who were in this business.

So our client spots us coming, and knows that he's in deep shit. If our enemies found out that he was dealing with us, and not just any random other gang who had connections around here and could protect him, they'd turn on him and get rid of him, so he quickly bailed, pointing at us the whole time, as though we were here to get rid of him. Well, the enemy gang wouldn't have that. This client buys a lot of drugs, obviously not for himself as he wouldn't have the cash to fork over, so they quickly rev up their own engines and charge straight for us. If we died, their client would be safe, and we're pretty much small fries around here, anyway.

So we start running, flying as fast as we can down the road with these bastards in hot pursuit. One of my partners rises next to me every few minutes to fire a blast from his shotgun, while all I've got is some crappy pistol from Springfield... I'm firing away and the thing has mediocre range, while my partner covers me every few moments with another blast. (2.) We pick off a guy or two, while nearly getting picked off ourselves, and our driver swerves back and forth as he dodges bullets and other stupid cars that, for some reason, are too stupid to get out of the way of a high-speed chase.

Thankfully, due to our Audi being, well, an Audi, we're built more for speed instead of reliability, and so we fly away from our BMW pursuers... We could hardly win this time around, but, hell, we did good with whatever we got. At least we didn't lose any guys and picked off a few of theirs.

* * *

That was the first of many problematic fights I had to go through in my new life. Drug dealing here, strippers and whores there. Sure, back when I was a kid it was a dream to meet strippers and screw one, but after you've gotten a little you feel empty inside. You have no idea how many fuckers have been with her, and what kind of diseases and shit she might have. AIDS, Chlamydia, hell the stuff that hurts like hell at least tells you that you have something bad... Some of that shit stays with you for a while, infecting everyone you fuck, until it finally eats away at you and you die just like that. Bullets get rid of you quickly. The diseases slowly eat you and everyone you touch.

The people around me... They wanted money and women and all that, and for a while I got used to them. Still, a part of me couldn't just accept this... I may have lost everything, but getting caught in a life where I'd get shot or worse every other day isn't the kind of life I dreamed of having. Sure, I was a fucking idiot, dreaming big when I was nothing but a worm, but even a worm isn't stupid enough to roll around in a fire. I knew I had to get out of here, but there was no fucking way out...

* * *

Another year flew by in my life. A year of bullets, drugs, whores, and death...

Death, heh, you business folks and you country hicks would know nothing of what it's like to be caught in this other world. You're nothing like the people who walk around, looking like they're dead. Fuck, they don't know what "dead" is.

Sure, you see some guy lying peacefully in a coffin. He's white, pale, and all that. He's dead, sure, and he can't come back. Hell, that makes him so lucky.

People like us, we're the living dead. Some people spit some crap about zombies and shit. That's stupid. Zombies are just dead people who can walk, and I sure as hell haven't seen dead men walking. But I have seen "dead" men. I'm a "dead" man. Your soul, your heart, all the things that give you life in this world, they just disappear when you're someone like me. Some poet once said that "once you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you." He was so fucking right. I see death every day, I become death each day, and so I walk as one of the dead.

I kill men like me, and men who are not like me, all for the sake of some shit who's sitting in a comfy chair, knowing that he's got a mob in his hands that'll kill anyone in his way. And that one Yakuza fucker who controls me knows that I can't touch him... That I have no power. I'm just a pawn in this game, fighting against other pawns. Every now and then we meet a piece, some bigshot who's killed a horde of grunts and who's got the experience to do it again, but we offed 'em too...

I'm caught in this trap, the bottom of the fucking barrel, the place where all the shit of the world collects, and I can't fucking get out...

I can't get out...

* * *

(1.) Original (and official) chapter title is Middle of the Shit Hole, but the site wants me to be kid friendly with my titles, so there you go.

(2.) Four points for anyone who recognizes the model I'm referring to, or at least the company. Granted, most of the knowledge I have of "shady" weaponry comes from C&C or the browser game Mob Wars, and we all know how accurate the latter is. (A simple hammer as a top-tier weapon? Honestly. At least the anti-tank weapon makes some sense.)

I apologize for saying that this fic is only four chapters long. The next chapter will have a different POV, from another Clannad character, no less! There you will see the beginnings of the two universes actually merging. The last will resume with characters from Black Lagoon, notably the Lagoon Company and Hotel Moscow, culminating in the ending. Yes, I don't feel like screwing with Sunohara for too long. Sorry if you're disappointed in that.


End file.
